The Craving
by The Angry Telephone Number
Summary: Many people have wondered: how exactly did Bulma and Vegeta get together? Perhaps they weren't in their right minds at the time? This is our version. Borderline R for adult situations.
1. Symptoms

**The Craving**

Disclaimer

DBZ, its characters, and concepts are the copyrights and/or trademarks of FUNimation (and/or Akira Toriyama) and are used here for non-profit entertainment purposes only. The only characters we created are Brik and Sharly, who we humbly offer as a sacrifice to whoever wants to play with them. Feel free to bend, spindle, mutilate, and/or even kill them. All we ask is that you send us a copy of whatever story you use them in. (Especially the spindle, we want to know what that is.)

Chapter 1: Symptoms

Bulma cracked open the door and peered around into Vegeta's room. Her eyes took in the spartan quarters that the current occupant had made no additions to whatsoever since he had been given them several months ago. If she was dealing with a normal person, she might think this was odd, but Vegeta was the Prince of all Saiyans and either lacked the desire or the imagination to acquire many personal affects. It almost seemed, even though he really had nowhere else to go, that he wasn't planning on staying long.

But still, despite his alien nature and aggressive personality, or maybe because of it, Bulma found herself quite attracted to him.

The object of her affection was sprawled face-down across his bed, obviously having been too exhausted from the nonstop torment he called his training to change out of his minimal clothing: a singed pair of rather tight black shorts and tennis shoes. From her place by the door, she could hear a soft, low snoring coming from the Saiyan's throat.

Smiling to herself, Bulma sighed and closed the door quietly.

* * *

Vegeta groggily raised his head from his pillow to find that he was sprawled facedown on his bed. He groaned softly, every muscle aching from his intense training and his skin feeling sticky. He realized somewhere in the back of his mind, that he had once again, in his exhaustion, neglected to take a shower before crashing onto his mattress. Somewhere closer to the forefront of his mind, he registered the dream that he had woken up during. He usually didn't dream while training; pushing his body to the limit and beyond seemed to take his energy away from that simple habit, so it seemed strange to him that he should be having the impression that that Earth woman Bulma was in them.

Deeming speculation not worth the effort, he painfully heaved himself off his bed and headed for the shower. After the deluge brought him more awareness and a slight relief to his soreness, Vegeta made his way downstairs to find the Briefs family already sitting down for their breakfast. The blonde woman who was Bulma's mother was babbling incessantly about something. She never had anything useful to say, so Vegeta didn't bother listening. Instead, he went into the kitchen, piled the prepared food onto a plate and civilly sat down at the table.

"So, did you sleep well?" Bulma asked cheerfully in a vain attempt to start a conversation.

Vegeta only grunted in between mouthfuls of food as he shoveled in his large portions, not bothering with anything approaching good manners.

This, however, didn't seem to discourage the annoying woman in the least, as she continued to carry on a conversation. Bulma seemed not to notice that the Saiyan didn't care what she had to prattle about, though he did find himself thinking about how nice she smelled today.

Vegeta shook his head to clear it. Why should he care how the woman smelled, as long as it wasn't offensive to him? After scarfing down the last of his breakfast, he got up and left for the space pod to begin his day's training. Before he was through the door, Bulma called out to him, "Oh, Vegeta! Do you really think you should be training today? I mean, you haven't healed from that last time you trashed that ship."

He stopped in his tracks and snarled over his shoulder, "As long as I can stand, I can fight, woman. Injuries are a pittiling excuse to pause my training."

"Just so long as those 'pittiling excuses' don't land you in intensive care again," Bulma shot back at him.

Vegeta just growled irritably and continued on his way.

* * *

He trained for hours. Pushing himself to the very limits of his endurance, and beyond, until exhaustion forced him to take a rest. Kneeling in the middle of the pod, Vegeta inhaled the smell of his own sweat with each heavy breath.

"I wonder what Bulma would smell like sweaty," Vegeta wondered to himself. Surprised at this strange musing, he once again shook his head to clear it of the alien thought. He briefly considered the possibility that he might be working himself too hard and was starting to have delusions because of it. Not that it mattered, for he would not relent until he had achieved his goal. Overcoming delusions could only make him stronger.

* * *

A few hours later, Vegeta was training at 400 times Earth's gravity when the gravity simulator suddenly cut off. Since he had been levitating in the air at the time, quite an exertion when he weighed that much, he shot straight into the ceiling of the pod, then bounced back to the floor, making huge dents in both. From his prone position on the floor he stared up into the worried face of Bulma.

"What is it?" he growled in annoyance and slight pain, carefully lifting himself into a sitting position. It was just like that woman to interrupt him like this.

Suddenly, a loud banging at the door informed him of the reason, causing the woman to jump. "Bulma! I know you're in there! Come on out so we can talk!" shouted the male voice on the other side of the door.

Vegeta looked at the door, then Bulma, who was making frantic motions for him not to answer it, then got up and walked to the door, opening it to stand face to face with the intruder that was on one of the lower steps leading to the entrance. "What the hell do you want?" the Saiyan warrior snarled menacingly.

"Uh," the disgusting human male that was easily twice Vegeta's size started, "is Bulma in there?"

"What's it to you?"

"Well, we used to date, I heard she broke up with her boyfriend, and I, uh . . . want her back," he said, a little uncertainly under the warrior's menacing stare.

Vegeta shot a glance at Bulma standing out of sight of the doorway. She had a worried expression on her face and was shaking her head vigorously from side to side. "It seems obvious to me that she does not want you back," he said, "I suggest you leave."

"If she's in there, I'm gonna find her, and no little shrimp is gonna stop me!" the imbecile climbed the stairs but encountered the unflinching Vegeta still in the doorway. The man tried to push the Saiyan aside. He might as well have tried to shove a brick wall. The guy finally backed down a little bit after working up quite a sweat. "Bulma, come out here! Who is this guy?"

Bulma cautiously walked into view behind Vegeta, "Well, you know I broke up with Yamcha . . . This is my new boyfriend, Vegeta. And I think you've been very rude to him."

"What, you'd take this porcupine-haired pipsqueak over me?"

At that point, Vegeta's hand shot out, grabbing the idiot's jugular and lifting him a few inches off the step, "You annoy me, insect. I suggest you leave, before I swat you." Then, without any effort, he flung the fool five feet from the ship.

The man lay on his back for a moment, dazed, then sat up, looked back at Vegeta, who was still standing in the doorway of the ship, and scrambled away as fast as he could.

After the human was out of sight, Vegeta turned around, satisfied to be rid of one pest, only to be hugged by another. His skin felt hot where she touched it, as if he was being hugged by a furnace. It was at once almost painful, yet strangely comforting . . . almost relaxing. Her hair smelled nice . . . Surprised by all this, he tensed.

"Oh thank you, Vegeta!" she squealed, squeezing him tight, unaware of the odd sensations she was imposing upon him. He broke free easily and held her at arm's length, which didn't help, since he was still touching her. He then dropped his arms and folded them, assuming the familiar pose of the stern Saiyan Prince.

"Do you mind telling me what that was all about?" he said gruffly, quickly regaining his composure.

"Well, that was Brik, a guy I dated in college," the blue haired woman started, "He seemed to like my money more than me, so I dumped him after only a few weeks of dating. He didn't take it very well. This is actually the first time he's harassed me since I started going back out with Yamcha," she smiled, "He tried acouple times, but Yamcha quickly convinced him to back off." Her expression turned to one of worry, "You don't mind I called you my boyfriend, do you?"

"If that is all you wanted, you should leave and let me get back to my training," he grumbled after she was finished, ignoring the question completely.

"Well, you don't have to be so snippy about it," she said, taken aback, "Have a nice day," she added venomously as she exited the pod.

Vegeta closed the door behind her, then leaned on the control console, trying to make sense of what just happened. "What is that woman doing to cause such reactions from me? Am I allergic to her or something?" He felt his face. It was still hot. He wasn't sure what he should do, but he had the feeling that a cold shower might help. Instead he tried to push the problem aside by resuming his training.

* * *

That night he collapsed onto his bed only to wake the next morning with images of Bulma that were even more vivid than the previous morning. He showered in cold water until the images seemed to leave. He went down to breakfast only to be met with another shock: either he was hallucinating, or Bulma had neglected to dress herself that morning.

Vegeta wasn't quite sure which option he preferred.

Once more, he shook his head to clear it. The Saiyan looked up again to see that it had, indeed, been a delusion. He wasn't sure whether to call it a relief or a disappointment, however he was relieved to see that none of the Brief family had noticed him just yet.

He got a plate-load of food and once again sat with Bulma and her parents at the table, trying to look calm and normal. Having, of course, not seen himself in that state before, he wasn't certain that he'd got it right. He barely noticed some odd glances directed at him from Bulma and her father, her mother being too vacuous to notice anything strange, as he shoveled down his food more quickly than usual and tried desperately not to look at Bulma again. For some reason, his sense of smell seemed to be heightened, and Vegeta could detect her scent strongly amidst all the aromas of food that tried to obscure it. It was a nice smell, though, sort of sweet, yet holding an interesting spice slightly below the surface . . .

This was starting to get on Vegeta's nerves.

When he left in his usual direction, it was not to go to his training ship, but to the medical wing of the Capsule Corp. complex. Something was wrong with him, and he was going to find out what.

* * *

Vegeta stared at the medical readouts on the screen before him. Something was definitely wrong. He had just done a full medical scan of himself and brought up a record from earlier to compare it to. There was some sort of chemical imbalance in his entire bloodstream, including what the computer considered an unidentified hormone, but compared it to certain human hormones dealing with fertility and reproduction. He also noted that his heart rate, while slightly above human normal most of the time, would double whenever he so much as thought about that accursed woman Bulma.

He sat back and took a little time to mull over the information. This reminded him of something that his caretaker Nappa used to tease that weakling Raditz about: at some point in a male Saiyan's life, if he had not yet found a mate, he went through something comparable to animals in heat. The body would seek out the nearest unattached, compatible female and drive itself to mate with said female.

But that was impossible. He couldn't be going through _fa'kir . . ._

Could he?

Just then, Bulma walked into the room behind him causing him to turn around in his chair, "Oh, hello, Vegeta. I didn't expect to sack you here."

She didn't just say that. He knew she didn't just say that. But that was what he heard.

Vegeta's heart started to race. His mind started a war with his body on whether to leave the room as quickly as possible and get away from Bulma, or get as close as possible to her, in the carnal sense. Failing to reach a prompt decision, he sat frozen right where he was, trying very hard not to look like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights.

"What are you looking at?" she asked, taking an interest in the medical scanner and stepping closer.

"Nothing that's any concern of yours," he grumbled, turning around and clearing the screen before she could catch a better look. Doing his best to ignore her, he forced his legs to carry him up and out of the room. As soon as he left, he headed straight for his quarters again; intent upon taking another cold shower, wondering if there was any liquid nitrogen nearby that he could douse himself with.

Having finished his second cold shower in four hours, Vegeta immediately headed for the training ship he had come to think of as his, hoping against hope that he might find refuge there from his body's desires.

This, the Saiyan soon discovered, was not to be, as an errant fantasy distracted him long enough for one of the training robots to blindside him with an energy blast.

That was it. This had to be stopped. Vegeta knew he had to get away from this place and the distraction of Bulma and her sea blue hair and soft, white, alabaster skin . . .

With a scream of frustration, he slammed his head against the floor, leaving a nicely sized dent.

It was then that he realized that the main, though not the only, reason for this attraction was that she, this blue-haired, blue-eyed vixen, was the closest, unattached, compatible female. The remedy, therefore, would be to go where there were no females, compatible or otherwise, to distract him.

Pleased with himself about finding a solution, he loaded the space pod with a few extra sets of body armor and as much food as he thought he would need for his journey. Then he left, without so much as a backward glance or a "goodbye," knowing that either might weaken even his considerable resolve.


	2. Homecoming

**The Craving**

Disclaimer

DBZ, its characters, and concepts are the copyrights and/or trademarks of FUNimation (and/or Akira Toriyama) and are used here for non-profit entertainment purposes only. The only characters we created are Brik and Sharly, who we humbly offer as a sacrifice to whoever wants to play with them. Feel free to bend, spindle, mutilate, and/or even kill them. All we ask is that you send us a copy of whatever story you use them in. (Especially the spindle, we want to know what that is.)

Chapter 2: Homecoming

About four months later, Vegeta took in his appearance in the full-length mirror aboard his ship as it made its pre-programmed flight back to Earth. He stood there in his torn blue and white armor, observing his black flame of hair and black eyes. Then, with the twitch of a mental muscle, a process that he had refined over the past few days, he burst into his new power.

He observed himself again in the mirror. This time, he was not his normal self. His eyes had turned into a pale green color and his hair into bright gold, but probably the most noticeable feature was the golden aura that now surrounded the Saiyan prince. His muscles, which were always powerful before, were now bursting with so much energy that he felt he could crush his idiot rival Kakarot like a pinjata.

Vegeta smiled at his newfound power. He had done it. He was now a Super Saiyan. He could now rightfully call himself "the Prince of all Saiyans" once again.

The warrior furrowed his brow in thought. Should he tell that lowly Kakarot and his pathetic friends of his new power? No, he decided. He would break those worthless androids that foolish boy had foretold all by himself, and then he would finally defeat Kakarot as he had so recently and sweetly dreamed.

Let those idiots mock him then.

He relaxed and let the Super Saiyan gold and jade dissipate, leaving his reflection somewhat less glorious than a moment ago. He had better not transform too closely to Earth, lest his secret be sensed by the other fighters training on the planet. Vegeta grinned viciously, "I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, after all, now would I?" he told himself.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon as Bulma gazed up at the cloud-speckled sky through the window and sighed. Vegeta had been gone so long. She remembered how strange he had been acting just before he left, and she somehow blamed herself.

Of course, her mother had told her not to, that it wasn't really her fault, that he would be back. After all, he had saved her life back on Namek, hadn't he? And he'd come back once already, so in Mrs. Brief's book, that left no doubt that a man had feelings for a woman. Bulma hadn't had the heart to tell her that Vegeta had only saved her so that he could use her as a hostage, and that he had only come back because he knew that Goku would eventually be back here.

Yamcha had left before and also come back--several times. Now he was gone again, kicked out, and had been away for longer than Vegeta.

Bulma felt so alone.

She sighed, realizing that she was still staring at the clouds, and tried to continue with her work, reprogramming the medical computer system that Vegeta had somehow managed to trash in his haste. Before she completely tore her eyes from the window, however, her attention was caught by a figure standing in the driveway.

It couldn't be . . .

"Yamcha!"

Bulma threw down her pencil and notes and scrambled out of her chair. She hit the hallway at a dead run and almost overshot the front door in her rush to it. Grabbing onto the handle for balance lest she fall, she wrenched open the door and ran out to her ex-boyfriend. "Yamcha!" she shouted excitedly again.

This time, he heard her, startled, and turned around in alarm, "Bulma, what a surprise," he managed nervously with a little laugh.

"Yamcha, you're back," Bulma breathed, practically in admiration. "I didn't think you were coming back," she blushed and looked down, assuming the familiar, coy stance reminiscent of a schoolgirl waiting for her beau to ask her to a dance.

Yamcha sheepishly put his hand behind his head, his face turning red, "Well, uh, you see . . . it wasn't exactly my idea . . ."

"Bulma, there you are!" came a familiar female voice from behind her. Bulma turned around to see her old friend from college, Sharly, jogging down the lawn, her large bust and golden hair bouncing in rhythm with her steps.

"Oh, hi Sharly, long time no see . . ." Bulma started to regain her mature composure. When her old friend stopped close to them, chest heaving with her panting, Bulma asked, "What brings you here?"

"Oh Bulma, it's been so long. I still remember how you bailed me out all those times in class," the blonde bombshell grinned like a cat showing off her new toy, "I was in the area and thought I'd stop by, you know, no annual reunion necessary, and thought I'd introduce you to my new boyfriend! Isn't he cute?" she bubbled.

"Yeah, we've met," Bulma said flatly. All her coyness had just gone out the window.

"Oh, by the way, I heard you had a new boyfriend, too," the vacuous bimbo continued, not taking such a subtle hint to go away, "He's gotta be something to catch your eye, girl. I know how picky you are!"

"Who told you I had a new boyfriend?" she said calmly, trying not to let the rage show.

"Oh, just here and there. What, afraid I'm gonna steal him from you?" She laughed, "I've got my own, girl, no danger of that!"

"New boyfriend?" Yamcha asked, puzzled.

"Yes, Yamcha, new boyfriend. What, didn't think I could get another one?" Bulma snapped.

"Are you talking about Vegeta?"

"Well, come on, where is he, then?" the blonde pushed.

"He's not here, ok? The big jerk just up and left! And I don't even know if he's coming back, alright, Sharly?" she exploded. Then, a little more quietly, yet no less venomous, "Now get off my property."

The pair stared at her in shock.

"I said go, bitch!" Bulma screamed, and they both ran off the lawn, jumped into Sharly's red convertible and took off.

Still fuming, she watched them until they were out of sight, then turned and stalked back into the house, slamming the door on the way in. Once inside, the woman screamed in animal frustration until her voice gave out. She then collapsed on a nearby couch, took one of the pillows onto her lap, cradling it, then curled around it and started crying.

Watching as their daughter soaked the pillow in tears and hearing the muffled sobs from their sheltered position by the staircase, Mr. and Mrs. Brief observed Bulma's breakdown. Surprisingly, it was Mrs. Brief who restrained her husband from stepping forward to comfort their daughter.

"But shouldn't we go to her, dear?" the puzzled man inquired.

"No, let her get it out of her system. She's had it tough. I think this was the last straw in the stack, if you know what I mean," she said quietly.

Dr. Brief looked up at his wife, innocent incomprehension obscuring his kindly face.

"Isn't it obvious? Her biological clock is ticking," Mrs. Brief whispered, "Her body is telling her to start a family, but she's just been rejected like so much trash. She's probably telling herself that no man wants her right about now, she's that depressed. I know how this goes; I've had plenty of friends that went through the same thing. Even though it breaks my heart to see my beautiful daughter like this, it's best just to let her work through it. Nothing we can do or say will make a difference to her right now."

Dr. Brief's expression hadn't changed one bit.

Mrs. Brief sighed and started to lead her husband away from the scene. "Woman's intuition, dear, you wouldn't understand."

"Oh, alright, if you say so."

* * *

Bulma woke up, still clutching the tear-soaked pillow from before. "I must have cried myself to sleep," she mumbled quietly, "I wonder what advice my mom has. Maybe she went through something like this before? I need to talk to her anyway."

She lifted her head up, half-expecting to find her mother sitting quietly beside her.

Mrs. Brief wasn't anywhere in sight.

Thinking this odd, Bulma sat up wearily and proceeded to search the house. She quickly found that neither of her parents were around. Plus it was dark outside. She must have missed dinner . . .

Bulma's stomach started to rumble.

"I guess I should go eat something then, hadn't I?" she told herself and headed to the fridge.

When she got there, she found a note stuck to it with a magnet. "Bulma," she read her mother's handwriting aloud, "Your father and I have gone to take care of a sick friend of mine. Sorry, you'll have to make your own dinner. See you tomorrow! Mom."

Bulma sighed. She really was on her own tonight.

Trying to put that out of her mind, she opened the refrigerator only to find it almost empty. "That's right, I've got to buy groceries again, don't I?" she said, slapping herself on the forehead, "Well, I'll get a little extra ice cream this time. Chocolate sounds good," Bulma mused out loud.

She reached for one of her air car capsules, then decided against it. It wasn't worth it. The market was within walking distance, plus a little fresh air might do her some good . . .

* * *

Half an hour later, Bulma was on her way back from the store, already digging into the chocolate ice cream she had treated herself to. She was almost at the front gate of her yard when a large, familiar figure stepped in her way. Before she knew it, Bulma had almost bumped into Brik.

"Hello, Bulma," the square-jawed man drawled, "You're out late. Want me to give you a ride home?"

"No thanks, Brik, I'm already home," she tried to push past him and succeeded in opening the gate, but the man's hand had mysteriously appeared on her elbow. This obstruction and the speed at which it was performed caused Bulma to spill her grocery bag just inside the gate and almost trip over her own feet. Brik's hand on her elbow, however, managed to keep her from falling to the ground entirely.

"Actually, I meant my home, sweetie," in the darkness, Bulma couldn't tell for sure, but she certainly heard the smirk in his voice.

"Brik, get your filthy hands off me. My boyfriend is inside and he's a very light sleeper," she lied, hoping it was convincing enough.

The Neanderthal only laughed. "You mean that Vegeta guy? He hasn't been around for months, has he? I even heard he wasn't coming back!"

"Wh-who told you that?" Bulma's fear was starting to show in her voice.

"Oh, I have my sources, honey. Now just come along quietly so you don't hurt my ears." Brik started to pull her away from the gate, but she grabbed on to it. The man growled in annoyance and just pulled harder. Eventually, Bulma's deathgrip on the fence gave, making them both stumble back a few feet.

Positioning himself between the struggling woman and the fence, Brik started trying to subdue her through brute strength. Bulma was starting to tire despite herself when a faint roaring sound started to grow louder, accopanied by a reddish glow in the sky, which also grew in intensity . . .

It seemed to be coming straight for them . . .

At about half a mile above the ground, it appeared to slow down, firing some sort of landing rockets, and a few seconds later, it spread its landing gear and touched down flawlessly on the lawn in front of Capsule Corp.

Brik stared agape at the capsule's landing, his grip going slack. Bulma was at first surprised, but overcame her shock quickly, taking her chance to escape her would-be kidnapper. She twisted in his loosened hold and brought her knee up as hard as she could into his groin.

Brik froze in complete and utter pain, releasing his hold on Bulma altogether, and slowly doubled over bringing his meaty hands over his privates, letting out little soprano squeaks.

This did nothing to alleviate Bulma's panic, though, as she was halfway down the street before her assailant had hit the ground.

Demonstrating extraordinary recovery under the circumstances, Brik was up on his feet and staggering after her a few seconds later.

* * *

Not really caring if his landing had woken up the household or not, Vegeta stepped out of his spaceship and breathed in the night air. He smiled slightly. Despite his opinion of the place, it almost felt like he was home. It occurred to him that Earth actually was the closest thing he had to a home right now, and it looked like it was going to stay that way. Bereft of a home planet and anyone who would recognize him for what he was, the only thing he had left to cling to was himself. It didn't really matter where he ended up. He was the last. The last Saiyan who remembered what the homeworld had looked like. The last of the pureblooded royal line . . . he didn't even have an heir . . .

Vegeta's smile faded as a heaviness settled around his heart. Had all the torture he had put himself through recently been worth it? Nobody even really cared what he did, so why should he? What if it was all in vain?

He suddenly felt very alone.

"I care because that's the only thing left," Vegeta told himself quietly, "My strength is the only thing that matters now, the only thing that ever mattered. Everything else that happens to me is incidental."

After dismissing this train of thought, Vegeta suddenly realized that he was tense, clenching his fists and digging his fingernails deeper into the recently healed wounds on his palms. He forced himself to relax. This was no time to dwell on that. While he was back, he should make the most of it.

Vegeta forced himself to smirk as he took a few more steps toward the house.

Just then, a slamming sound caught his attention. Turning to locate it, Vegeta saw the unlatched gate swing in the slight breeze. Thinking that was all it was, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, then noticed the untidy pile just on his side of the gate. He decided to take a look and discovered the scattered groceries on the sidewalk, including an open bucket of some sort. Vegeta picked it up; wondering what would cause anyone at this house to drop food that, according to the near-freezing temperature of the half-gallon bucket, was only bought very recently . . .

On a less serious note, he also wondered what this cold substance tasted like . . .

* * *

Still in a panic, Bulma ran around practically blindly. She had hoped to make it around another entrance to Capsule Corp's grounds, but she realized she must have taken a wrong turn somewhere when she found herself staring into a blind alley.

"Ok Bulma, calm down. You can think yourself out of this," she panted aloud to herself, "Now why is he after you?"

"For your money, of course. What else?" came a winded voice from behind her. Bulma whirled around to see Brik leaning heavily on one of the walls. "Though now I can think of a few others, you little bitch," he spat as he lumbered closer to her. There wasn't enough room to get past him, so Bulma had no option but to back up further. Even in his pained condition, Brik was still faster than she was, and it didn't help that when Bulma stepped wrong, one of her high-heels broke. In a flash, Brik was there with an evil grin and a huge hand crushing her wrist.

Bulma screamed.

* * *

Vegeta had dug out a small portion of the mostly-frozen consumable for a second taste when he heard the scream. It was certainly a woman's scream, Vegeta had heard enough of them to be able to tell that much, but he could almost place it . . .

It sounded like Bulma's scream, the way she screamed when she was afraid for her life.

More curious at this point than anything else, Vegeta dropped the ice cream and jumped into the sky.

He was at a loss as to where to look yet, however, until the second scream split the air.

"Vegeta!"

Vegeta flew in the direction the cry came from, looking down for signs of a struggle, but because of the dark of the city streets at night, he couldn't see anything. Vegeta growled in frustration, he needed another sign . . .

He got it: "Vege--"

It was cut off, but that was enough. He finally spotted the two of them. Bulma was being harassed by that mentally underdeveloped gorilla she called Brik. Vegeta took a fraction of a second to consider the situation. He didn't really owe her anything, but seeing her like that made something in his blood boil. He wanted to make that inferior bastard scream . . .

In the blink of an eye, Vegeta was behind the imbecile, lifting him off his feet by the back of his shirt to get his attention. In surprise, he released his grip on Bulma, letting her slump to the ground.

"I thought it was made clear the last time we met that this area was off limits to you," Vegeta growled venomously, "or do I need to break a few things to get my point across?" With that, the Saiyan tossed Brik into the air, let him fall back down, and dropkicked him into the trashcans across the street. By the time the idiot had presence of mind to crawl out of the refuse and look back across the way, Vegeta was back on the ground, still a rather ironically short figure with a self-righteous smirk on his face. Looking at Brik as if daring him to do something stupid.

For once in his life making a smart decision, Brik ran as fast as he could in the other direction, never again looking back.

Vegeta watched him go. When the man rounded a corner out of sight, Vegeta turned around to check on Bulma. He hadn't heard her make a sound since before he had taken care of her assailant.

She was sitting on the dirty asphalt shaking, her head lowered and her clothes torn. Every once in awhile he would hear a loud, uncontrolled sob escape her choked throat. It didn't take Vegeta long to realize that she was trying to keep from crying.

It didn't take him long after that to realize that he had no clue how to handle this . . . Vegeta's reason told him that he didn't have to. He could just take off and leave her there on the filthy pavement in this dark back-alley and let her find her own way home.

No, something else told him. Her attitude was always filled with fire, betraying a spirit that was almost akin to his own. He wasn't quite sure why, but seeing her like this frightened him a little. She had never seemed this vulnerable to him before.

He took a step closer to her shuddering figure. "Bulma?" uncertainty edged his voice. Her shaking subsided a little, but she didn't look up. Heartened a little that she was at least slightly responsive, Vegeta came closer and kneeled beside her, trying to take hold of her by her elbow, but she pulled away from his hand. He backed off a little, and then slowly reached out again, this time gently taking hold of her upper arm causing her to flinch, but she relaxed a second later. "Come on, let's get you home," he said softly, as he slowly started standing up. She complied with the gentle persuasion surprisingly enough and stood up with him.

When they were both on their feet, Bulma tore out of his grip, but instead of running away as the warrior expected, she wrapped her arms around his chest and buried her face in his shoulder.

Vegeta had no clue what to do. He was used to eliciting fear, hate and other negative emotions from the people in his presence . . . by now he was even almost used to being laughed at, but this was a new circumstance altogether. She wasn't running from him, slapping him, or scolding him. She was crying on his shoulder! Bulma was actually seeking comfort from him.

The Saiyan weighed his options once again. He could release himself from her grip easily, but at this point, he wasn't quite sure how without hurting her. He could also try talking to her, but he had the distinct impression that she wasn't exactly in the mood to hear anything anyone said. At a loss for anything better to do, Vegeta fell back on what he had observed other people do in times like this. He wrapped his arms around her and held her.

It was almost hypnotic, being so close to her after all this time. His senses took in everything about her as he closed his eyes, from the sweet smell of her skin and hair, to the rhythmic shuddering of her body to her sobs, to the saturated warmth of her tears soaking through his tattered armor, to the allegro drumbeat of her heart . . .

After an indeterminate amount of time, Vegeta realized that her shaking had died down and her breathing was more even. Yet she was still clinging to him. As he tried to pull away a little, Bulma just clutched him more fiercely, almost making him gasp for air. "Bulma, let's go back now," he said softly in her ear, "We should get you inside--"

Vegeta was cut off by Bulma's lips on his own.

It was like the world around him exploded. In a fraction of a second, his heart started to race and his blood ran hot. It was as if he was in the grip of a star and couldn't pull himself free. Before he knew what had happened, Vegeta reflexively pulled away from this new sensation, all but tearing himself free of the woman's needy grasp. Fortunately, she still had a tight grip around his middle, causing him to stay closer than his reflexes would have had him. In fact, Bulma's lips were still locked on his.

The longer she held him like this, the more his shock started to fade. Once the initial panic had settled, Vegeta found himself returning the kiss, uncertain at first, but then wholeheartedly, clutching her body more firmly against his as his instincts began to take hold. After a few seconds of this, the prince had enough presence of mind to sweep his lady up into his arms with a tenderness he had not even been aware he was capable of and raised them both into the air back to Capsule Corp.


	3. Aftershocks

**The Craving**

Disclaimer

DBZ, its characters, and concepts are the copyrights and/or trademarks of FUNimation (and/or Akira Toriyama) and are used here for non-profit entertainment purposes only. The only characters we created are Brik and Sharly, who we humbly offer as a sacrifice to whoever wants to play with them. Feel free to bend, spindle, mutilate, and/or even kill them. All we ask is that you send us a copy of whatever story you use them in. (Especially the spindle, we want to know what that is.)

Chapter 3: Aftershocks

Vegeta awoke the next day feeling more relaxed then he had been in a long while. It was as if a great pressure had been released from his tense soul. He stretched his arms out towards the sides of the bed, then froze as something snuggled closer to him. Moving as little as possible he looked down in horror at the blue head of hair that was now nestled against his right shoulder. It was that annoying earth woman Bulma--completely naked, and in bed with him! And yet, he didn't feel the heat that had recently accompanied physical contact with her, only her completely natural body warmth. Slowly he moved himself out from under her, more out fear for what she might do once awakened than out of concern for her comfort. Once free of both the bed and the Bane that still slept upon it, he headed for the bathroom. Maybe a shower would help him reassemble the shattered memories of last night, and, he hoped, prove that he had not mated with her.

It didn't. Although many of the remembered positions seemed physically impossible and were surely mere delusion, one fact remained clear. He had indeed mated with the Earth woman, not once, but several times. Part of him wondered if he had been good for her. The rest of him pounded that part into submission for even thinking that! He was the prince of all Saiyans; of course he was good for her! A better question would be, was _she_ good for _him_? And would fate deal him another blow by allowing a child to be spawned from this disgusting union?

Vegeta slammed his fist into the shower wall, cracking the tile.

This was outrageous! What the hell had he been thinking last night? Could it have been the _fa'kir_? No, he had been controlling himself too well for such a hormonal imbalance to affect him that much. Maybe that substance he had been eating right before he heard Bulma's scream . . . chocolate, wasn't it? He had heard that chocolate was considered an aphrodisiac by some humans . . . But no. Saiyans were resistant to such weak poisons and drugs, weren't they? But if he had been somehow weakened by the _fa'kir_ . . .

Before Vegeta could get any further with his thoughts, an odd sensation worked its way up his spine, as a pair of slender, feminine arms slid themselves around his middle in a hug from behind. "Morning, Vegeta," Bulma murmured dreamily, "You were wonderful last night," she said, as she nibbled his ear.

"Of course I was," Vegeta said, settling on a response, "Now where are my clothes?"

"Oh, one boot's over there, the other over there, part of your leotard-thing is on the ceiling fan, and I think your armor got kicked under the bed," Bulma mumbled happily, gesturing vaguely with her hands while keeping her arms wrapped around her prince's middle, "or maybe it got thrown out the window, I'm not sure."

Vegeta let out a quiet snarl. Clearly the Saiyan prince had been too much for the human female. Oddly enough, he found that he took a little pride in that.

But enough was enough. Vegeta took one of Bulma's hands and pulled her around him so that she was in the direct line of fire from the shower. The sudden blast of water, as he had hoped, was enough to propel the woman back to her senses, causing her to gasp in shock.

"What was that for?" she yelled indignantly.

"It seemed the quickest way to bring you back to your senses," Vegeta explained levelly.

"Well, it worked," then, she realized that she was naked—and so was he . . .

Bulma let out a small shriek and tried to cover herself with her hands. "W-why are we both naked?" she asked nervously.

"Don't you remember last night?" Vegeta countered, once again in that level tone, letting no indicator of emotion escape through his voice or face. Unlike her, he seemed completely comfortable in his nudity and made no attempt to cover it.

At about that point, Vegeta honestly expected her to lash out with that violent temper of hers, screaming something like "you took advantage of me, you bastard," or something to the effect. That, as he saw it, would have been a half-truth. Their bodies had taken advantage of one another in circumstances that neither of them could control. Damn hormones.

She paused as if a revelation had just hit home, "So . . . w-what do we do now?"

Vegeta was inwardly surprised and relieved that the expected tantrum didn't happen. "I suggest we dry off, get dressed, and never speak of this again," he said, as he moved toward one of the towel racks.

"How can you say that?" Bulma exclaimed, "This was the first time I--"

"Do you really want your friends to think that you 'did it' with the Evil Vegeta?" the Saiyan snarled.

"Well, I . . . guess not . . ."

"Then it never happened," Vegeta insisted firmly, throwing her a towel, "Now, do you have any shorts or anything that might fit me? I doubt my bodysuit is in any condition to be worn right now."

"I think so," she said, wrapping the towel around herself, "Just let me look."

Returning with an old pair of shorts that had always been too big for her anyway, Bulma suddenly noticed the spots of red on the white towel Vegeta had used to dry himself off with, which brought her attention to the cuts and bruises adorning his lightly tanned skin. "Vegeta, you're hurt!" she exclaimed, rushing to his side, "How did that happen?"

"The official story is that they're from training," he said after a little consideration, "The unofficial one is that, in some respects, you are quite a formidable partner."

Bulma smiled crookedly as she noticed the red bite mark turning slightly purple on the top of Vegeta's left shoulder, "I see what you mean," she blushed, "Here, put these on and I'll bandage those for you."

* * *

Outside, Dr. Brief landed the aircar, bringing it in for a three-point landing outside the gate. "Oh my, I guess Vegeta's back already," his wife exclaimed in delight, seeing the large black and white spaceship squatting on the lawn.

"Well well, he must have finished with his training up there," Bulma's father surmised, turning off the car and unloading himself from it. Watching the spaceship for signs of wear and tear, instead of looking where he was going, Dr. Brief bumped into his wife who was standing motionless on the walk in front of him.

"What is it, dear?" he wondered aloud, turning his mustached face to where she was looking. "Oh dear," he muttered, as he took in the scattered groceries and the thoroughly melted chocolate soup covering the concrete walkway.

"Oh no, what does this mean?" Bulma's mother was almost in hysterics from looking at the scattered goods, "Bulma wouldn't just leave this stuff here! Especially not anything chocolate!"

"Calm down, dear, I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for this—"

"Calm down? Our baby is missing, probably hurt, and you want me to calm down?" Mrs. Brief turned around and yelled at her husband.

"Well, you were the one who insisted that she would be fine without us last night . . . Besides," Dr. Brief smiled nervously, "I'm sure its nothing like that, now lets just take the groceries inside and assess the situation in there—"

Without another word, Mrs. Brief scooped up all the groceries except the melted ice cream and stalked inside. Her husband quickly followed.

Mrs. Brief continued her way into the kitchen and dropped the groceries on the counter, bursting the already torn bag, then turned around to face her husband who was hot on her heels. "There, I brought the food in. Now are you going to call missing persons?"

It was at that point that a tremendous roar of pain swept its way throughout the complex, echoing off the walls and making the floor vibrate with its intensity.

"That sounded like Vegeta!"

"And it came from the medlab," Dr. Briefs replied as they both headed toward the source of the scream, "It must be something terrible."

They reached the medical wing just in time to hear Bulma scolding Vegeta. "Stop complaining! This is just a little disinfectant. I've seen you take a lot worse without a flinch."

"I'm always ready for battle. I wasn't ready for you coating my scratches with battery acid!"

"You're OK!" Bulma's mother cried startling Vegeta into a battle stance. Upon seeing Bulma's parents in the doorway he relaxed and just glared at them accusingly as if to say, how dare you catch me off guard. Bulma's mother paid no heed to this glare as she rushed over and hugged her daughter, babbling almost incoherently.

"Oh my sweet baby girl, I was so worried! When I saw those spilled groceries I was certain something terrible had happened!"

"It's OK mom," Bulma said as she gently released herself from the hug and held her mother at arm's length, "Brik showed up and tried to cause trouble, but then Vegeta arrived and kicked that bully's butt across the street."

Upon hearing this, Mrs. Brief immediately turned to Vegeta and threw her arms around him. "You're such a hero!" she exclaimed, squeezing him tight while tears ran down her cheeks. Vegeta winced in pain as she caught him both off guard and across his newly bandaged wounds along with some as yet unbandaged ones. He had before evoked fear, hate, and in some small amount adoration, but this was far beyond his experience. He gave Bulma a look containing confusion and exasperation coupled with astounding restraint, as if to say, "Ok, what do I do with it now?"

Bulma hid a suppressed chuckle behind her hand before coming to her "hero's" rescue. "Calm down mom. Vegeta overdid it while training, as usual, and some of his injuries are still sore."

"Oh, yes, of course," Mrs. Briefs said as she released Vegeta. "Can't have you hurting too bad when Goku, Krillen, and all your other little friends show up to welcome you back," she added as she gave him a couple affectionate pats on the cheek. The blonde was blissfully unaware that the only thing keeping her little girl's "knight in shining armor" from breaking her arm off was the fact that it would just be too easy to be satisfying.

"Come on dear," said Dr. Briefs as he gently lead his wife away. "Let's leave these two alone so Bulma can finish bandaging Vegeta's wounds.

Although he would never say it aloud, Dr. Briefs' intervention caused Vegeta's opinion of him to go up a couple points.

"Thanks Dad, We'll be finished in a couple minutes." Bulma resumed her work on the Saiyan's wounds, much to his barely disguised displeasure. He let out a grunt of pain as the medlab doors closed behind the elder pair of Briefs.

* * *

"Do you think they suspect anything?" Vegeta inquired with mild disinterest.

"Nah," Bulma replied as she applied another bandage to his chest. "My mom's too relieved that I'm ok and my dad, though a brilliant man, is generally oblivious to anything that doesn't involve science." Bulma continued dressing Vegeta's wounds for a moment, then said, "I thought you said we shouldn't talk about that . . ."

"Forget I mentioned anything. Nothing happened, remember that," denied Vegeta gruffly.

Bulma pressed a little harder on the wound she was dressing than she was supposed to, reopening the wound and half-soaking the bandage in the warrior's blood.

Vegeta hissed air in through his teeth, "What was that for, woman?"

The blue haired woman's face was impassive, "Nothing. Nothing at all."

Vegeta snorted and stopped complaining.

In the relative silence that followed while Bulma finished bandaging her "hero," she mused aloud, "Why did you even rescue me last night, anyway?"

The Saiyan prince remained silent. He had been asking himself the same thing since he woke up this morning. He still didn't have a good answer, or at least not one he was willing to share. The only one that made sense was that when he returned and got that close to Bulma, the _fa'kir_ he had suppressed for months took him by storm. Imagine that, the Prince of all Saiyans conquered by a hormonal imbalance! There was no way he could admit that to her, or anyone. He must pretend he had intended it all to happen. He must--

"Oh, giving me the silent treatment now, are we?" Bulma accused, pulling a bandage tighter than it needed to go.

"Would you rather I hadn't?" Vegeta snapped back, "I've had all I can stomach of your inane banter! Stop pestering me with your foolish questions, and leave me alone!" He stood up and turned to leave.

"Alright, alright, you've made your point," Bulma acceded, "You had your reasons for rescuing me as much as I did to need rescuing anyway," she gestured back to the medical bench, "You really did a number on yourself while training. Truce?"

He grunted, sat back down, and let her finish wrapping. Vegeta smiled inwardly at his deft avoidance of that unsteady topic. But knowing this vile temptress before him, she likely wouldn't let it rest for long.

* * *

Later that day around lunchtime, Yamcha stood at the door of the Briefs' residence, finger poised just in front of the doorbell.

He wasn't sure why he was there, exactly. Maybe it was to apologize for coming over yesterday with Sharly. True, it had been her idea to come over, but he just couldn't seem to say no to her. Even when she'd dumped him last night, he couldn't find a voice to argue.

Who was he kidding? Bulma would just get angrier at him and tell him to go away without giving him a chance to explain. He put his hand in his left pocket, fingered the tiny object he found there, sighed deeply, and turned to leave.

Just then, Mrs. Brief opened the door and almost ran into him. "Oh, Yamcha!" she shrieked, "I was just on my way out for some oranges. Where are my manners? Come on in, we just started lunch!"

Yamcha felt as if she had just caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. Confronted with an open invitation inside, "Thank you, Mrs. Brief, I was starting to feel a little hungry myself," he lied and put on a false grin. It was so hard to deny that cheery woman anything. Maybe that's where Bulma got her attitude from, neatly disguised to normal viewers.

On his way through to the patio on the other side of the house, he met Bulma coming from the medical wing with a slight smile on her face. It faded when she saw him. "Yamcha, what are you doing here?" She put her hands on her hips, "Bring another girlfriend along?" she asked sarcastically.

"No, Bulma, it's not like that," he tried to start, but she just snorted and tried to walk past him. Yamcha grabbed her elbow and turned her around to face him, "Would you please listen? Look, I'm sorry about yesterday. I knew it was a bad idea to come over here with her, and I don't know how she talked me into it."

Bulma rolled her eyes, but didn't start wandering away again.

"Come on, I want to make it up to you," Yamcha pleaded, "Could you give me one more chance? How about a date tonight? I've got movie tickets and--"

"Sorry, but I don't think my boyfriend would appreciate that," Bulma interrupted.

"Oh no, not that thing about Vegeta being your boyfriend again," Yamcha moaned, his voice exasperated, "I don't believe it. You can't be serious about that!"

"Watch me," she insisted as she crossed her arms, "Vegeta has pride. He's intelligent, determined, he never does anything half-heartedly, and he works constantly. Unlike some people."

"Come on! What has that megalomaniac done for you lately? How do you know he has any feelings for you at all?" Yamcha tried not to beg, but the situation looked bleaker by the second.

"How does saving my life last night sound?"

"What?"

"Brik ambushed me last night and tried to kidnap me," Bulma explained venomously, "If Vegeta hadn't gotten back in time, there would've been a ransom note waiting for my parents when they got back this morning. Not to mention he'd probably would've tried to rape me for good measure."

Yamcha was dumbfounded. His jaw worked up and down, but his brain couldn't think of anything to say.

Just then, Bulma's mother saved him the trouble. "Oh there you two are! Lunch is getting cold, you'd better hurry up!" and she shooed them out onto the patio.

Frustrated by his earlier failure, Yamcha continued to watch Bulma all throughout the meal while trying not to look like it. While the Briefs made conversation and Yamcha piped in once in awhile, he couldn't help but notice Bulma stealing glances in the freshly bandaged Vegeta's direction. Every time she did so, a little smile would come to the corner of her mouth, while the Saiyan blatantly ignored her. Once Vegeta was done with his large amount of food (far faster than everybody else, but not seeming to have eaten quickly), he got up to leave. Yamcha watched as Bulma's eyes hungrily followed after him.

That did it. Yamcha would have to talk her out of her lust for the jerk. He'd just have to catch her after she'd cooled off. Tonight would probably be good.

* * *

It was many hours later as Vegeta peered through the bathroom window at the stars. The moon was almost full. He closed his eyes and sighed, wondering how things would've been different had he kept his tail. He wouldn't be here, that was certain. This house probably would have been destroyed along with Kakarot, that brat Gohan, and the rest of this meager planet.

What's done is done, Vegeta told himself. Don't moan about the past or what-if, because there is no way to change it. At least not here and now. That purple-haired Saiyan boy had a time machine, though . . .

Shifting his mind from that time-traveling brat again, he turned to the mirror and appraised his wounds. What would once have taken several days to completely heal were now only minor blemishes on his tanned body. Vegeta had always been a fast healer, but this was beyond his earlier capabilities without the aid of a healing tank. He smiled cunningly. A welcome side effect to being super-Saiyan, no doubt. In light of this development, the warrior left his bandages scattered across the bathroom floor. Bulma would undoubtedly notice, though.

His attention was drawn to the bruised portion of skin where his neck met his shoulder. He certainly hadn't noticed _that _before . . . Leaning closer to the mirror to get a better look, Vegeta probed the sore spot with his fingers. Was that what he thought it was? Sure enough, he felt and saw the delicate teeth marks that could only have been made by one thing.

Vegeta was stunned. That woman had done a very Saiyan-like thing last night: marking what was hers. Vegeta balked at the thought. She couldn't have known what it meant! She had seemed highly embarrassed at the scratches she had caused him, even covering them up for him. Vegeta tried to remember what Nappa had said about sustaining bite marks while mating. The first time, it declared intention. The next step would be to carry through with the intention often enough to leave a scar . . .

No. He could not become bonded to this woman. She represented a weakness, a crack in his armor.

And, he thought as he stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in his towel, there's no way of avoiding that Bulma woman if she wants something. As if summoned by his earlier thoughts, Bulma herself leaned against the wall directly in front of the door.

"What do you want?" Vegeta asked in an annoyed tone of voice.

"Nothing specific," she answered, standing up straight and moving closer. With her slippers on she was only slightly shorter than the Saiyan, minus the hair. "I just want to talk."

"With me? You must be joking." Vegeta turned away and started walking down the hallway to his room.

"Yes, with you," said Bulma as she followed close behind, "Or would you rather I talk to someone else about your little secret?"

Vegeta stopped in his tracks, unnerved by her use of the word "your," "Don't you mean 'our?'"

Having gotten his attention, Bulma continued walking, "Nope. This one doesn't involve me."

In a flash, he was in front of her, Vegeta's hand planted against the wall, blocking her way.

"What secret?" he snarled menacingly.

"Now if I told you, it wouldn't be a secret, would it?" Bulma rejoined smugly and tried to walk back the way they came, but Vegeta's other arm shot out and blocked her escape. Left with no other option, she turned to face her captor, one corner of her mouth slightly raised in what could have been a smirk. She obviously wanted him to ask more questions.

"What do you think you know?" Vegeta said more calmly.

"Well," Bulma started, her breath warm on his cheek, her voice pitched low enough so only his ears could hear, "I was thinking recent events over and came to realize a few things. First, I know you didn't come back here for me, despite whatever romantic ideas my mother may have." As she spoke, she started languidly tracing the lines of the Saiyan's muscles, leaving a wake of fire that had nothing to do with the _fa'kir_ . . . "Second, you still had plenty of fuel and food left in the ship, so you wouldn't have come back to restock before heading out again, unless it was for clothes, which you do seem to tear up on a regular basis. Third, I took a blood sample from you earlier this morning to check your health, and it was different somehow. More efficient, maybe. And now, as I see the wounds that were fresh this morning practically disappeared, it leaves me with one conclusion . . ."

Vegeta's face had remained impassive all this time. He didn't need to ask her the obvious question as she leaned even closer, her lips brushing his earlobe, "You're a super-Saiyan now, aren't you?"

"I don't know where you get these stupid ideas," Vegeta muttered quietly, but he didn't move his arms to let her go. His face would have won easily at poker, as Bulma leaned back from his ear to observe his reaction.

The Saiyan weighed the possible outcomes in his head. He could deny everything, but since he had reacted to her earlier statements, she would know something was up. She would probably carry through with her threat and tell everyone, or at least start the rumor. If he confirmed her claims, though, she would likely be kept happy by her own genius enough to keep her mouth shut. One thing was certain: now was not the time to reveal his power. If Kakarot saw him as a possible threat or someone to compete with, Vegeta might never have a chance to surpass him. If knowledge is power, Vegeta must gain more and keep Kakarot in the dark as long as possible.

Vegeta was in a corner and the only way out was through keeping this woman quiet. Since he couldn't kill her without causing problems, he had to deal with her on her terms.

She was still looking at him, eyes locked with his. She was smiling in that self-righteous way that made his blood boil . . . she was so desirable. An intellect to match his tactical genius. A spirit of fire to rival his own. It was just now that he realized the almost perfect match. Whether he liked it or not, he was now bound to her as she was to him. He knew the bond and hated it.

"And what if I am?" Vegeta finally said in a low voice.

Bulma grinned. "I knew it," she whispered excitedly. Her eyes lit up as if she had just won a battle. If it wasn't for the fact she'd never had a tail, he would have sworn she was another Saiyan.

"What do you want from me?" the Saiyan prince growled.

"Nothing you haven't already given me," Bulma purred slyly and brushed her lips seductively against his. They were warm, soft, moist and oh-so tempting. He felt very warm, but not the urgent fire of _fa'kir_. This desire was completely normal. First his hormones, now blackmail! It felt like someone was playing a cruel joke on him.

There was only one way out of this.

Damn you, woman, Vegeta thought to himself as he gave in and kissed her full on the lips. She squealed in delight as he took over in passionate aggression, picked her up, and quickly moved the scene into the privacy of Vegeta's room.

* * *

Yamcha gazed forlornly through the window to the second-storey hallway. He had seen everything. Bulma had said some words to Vegeta which obviously had him flustered, he said something back which obviously satisfied her. Then she had jumped into his arms. Bulma had never been like that with him . . .

The words from his most recent ex that morning still haunted his mind. Brik had crawled into her apartment, bruised and bloody, and Sharly had run to him, exclaiming over his condition. Yamcha was confused, but she insisted they run to the hospital right then. Yamcha tried to stop her at the door, saying that gorilla deserved whatever he got, but she had pulled away from him in disgust. "I'm sorry, Yamcha. You're a sweet man, but we were just using you to get to Bulma."

It hadn't taken long for Yamcha to asses the situation and his real feelings. That morning, he had known who he really cared for, and he wanted to prove it to her.

His hand dipped into his left pocket and drew out the ring that he had chosen that morning. It bore a large diamond on a slender golden band. It was an engagement ring.

He closed his eyes in such pain, as if Vegeta himself had blown a hole through his heart. A solitary tear left his eye and he sobbed. Even if Yamcha loved Bulma with all his heart, she had never really loved him. It was more a feeling of loyalty to her first boyfriend ever that had kept bringing her back to him, but it had been his denied love that made him keep coming back to her.

This time, he had waited too long. He knew that look in Bulma's eyes as she had set them on Vegeta. She had a new goal, a new obsession, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Her determination was too strong for that.

Yamcha opened his tightly shut eyes once again and realized that he'd been crushing the delicate ring in his hand. The soft gold had deformed to an un-wearable state and the bright stone had bitten into his skin. What a perfect allegory for his life with Bulma.

Unable to take it anymore, he flung the expensive scraps as far as he could into the night, and flew away, heart heavy with anguish. He would never find another woman like her. He had missed his chance all over again.

* * *

The End 

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